


Maman

by esteoflorien



Series: A Drabble a Day [3]
Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:39:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteoflorien/pseuds/esteoflorien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Madame Giry muses on her unborn child (pre-Phantom). A character study.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PerilouslyClose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerilouslyClose/gifts).



She had grown so accustomed to being called _Madame Giry_ that she couldn’t quite conceive of how she would adjust to _maman_. The child had been a surprise; she’d thought her childbearing years were behind her. At first she had considered getting rid of it: there was no shortage of women in Paris who knew how to end pregnancies, after all. She wasn’t personally acquainted with any of them – neither the women nor their methods – but with a few well-placed, discreet inquiries, it would not have been difficult to arrange. But once she had greeted enough mornings with her hand at her stomach, wondering what the child within her would make of the sunlight or the snow or the stage, there had been no question of whether she would carry the child.

Her position was secure. They wouldn’t replace her; no one else would work for the pitiful amount they paid her. She liked to think that she’d stayed at the Opera because it had been her choice, because she had been a girl here, a dancer in the corps de ballet before her promotion. But she knew perfectly well – as do they – that she’d had nowhere else to go.

 _A daughter would be born into the theatre_ , she thought, as she led class. She could picture her daughter here, at the barre, the dancer and actress she’d always wanted to be. A dancer she was, but not quite an actress, not much of a singer. Her daughter, if it was daughter, would be all three.

 _But a boy would have freedom_ , she considered, clapping her hands to announce the new set of steps. _A boy could leave the Opera, and make his own way_. She could picture him, too, a little boy who would grow and be free of the ghosts that haunt this place.

She watched the girls begin their centre work. On days like this when the sun shone through the window onto the wooden floor, she could forget that the windows were filthy and the catwalks falling apart. The facility with which she could believe the veneer of the theatre amused her. She should pray for a boy. She should go to Notre Dame and light and candle and hope for a little boy who would not follow her into the dance.

And yet, watching the girls pirouette in perfect synchronicity, she couldn't help but wish for a daughter. 


End file.
